What am I? A lace-wearing well read little hipster who finds her
clarity on stage. Amateur fortune-teller. Expert advice-giver.
Accidentally well traveled. I'm a sucker for a lot of things,
especially craft beers and well written dialogue. I've got a
boyfriend, but he doesn't care who I sleep with.

I went to a Big Ten school and am done learning how to direct shows
with people in them. Theatre. Curtains. Lights. Actors. That's my
jam. Now I live in the town of my birth, the one with foggy days
and bonfire nights.

If we're not going with straight up body parts then they would
probably be:

eyebrow piercing
that I drift off in the middle of sentences
I've got a large variety of laughs
I am bad at starting conversations but good at continuing
them
I'll nibble on my scarf or do something with my hands

Who deserves the Iron Throne, what thoughts are made of, blocking
scenes in upcoming shows, soundtracks that fit nicely
together.

What is art anyway? Why do people make me choose between tea and
coffee; beer and liquor; cats and dogs; technology or nature? Was
that an appropriate use of a semi-colon? Why don't I write as much
as I used to? Lets organize a big snowball fight!